


Bad Blood

by lunasenzanotte



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Historical, Character Death, Family Secrets, Futbal Mini-Bang, Liverpool F.C., Multi, Murder, Murder Mystery, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 14:56:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3573905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunasenzanotte/pseuds/lunasenzanotte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rich gentleman Brendan Rodgers is murdered during a family reunion at his mansion. Chief Inspector Jamie Carragher and his assistant Dirk Kuyt arrive on the scene. Can they find the murderer in a house full of people who all seem to have a motive?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Futbal Mini-Bang](http://futbal-minibang.livejournal.com).
> 
> Thank you to the awesome, talented [trimalchio](http://archiveofourown.org/users/trimalchio) for the collaboration, and to my beta Jazz for her patience and suggestions. 
> 
> The cover made by [trimalchio](http://archiveofourown.org/users/trimalchio) is here:
> 
>  

 

The Melwood Mansion looked oddly peaceful in the warm, pinkish light. The morning dew shone on the rhododendrons’ leaves in the corner of the garden and on the spider webs between the pine branches. The grass sang in the fresh breeze and the sleepy voices of the birds only added to the dreamy atmosphere. There was only one thing that disturbed the perfect morning - the dead body of the master of the house, resting somewhere behind the solid brick walls.

Dirk Kuyt got out of the car and leaned againstits roof for a moment to look at the house. “Such a pretty morning for a murder,” he sighed.

Chief Inspector Jamie Carragher, his boss, didn’t share his interest in quaint views. “The family doctor should be waiting inside,” he said laconically and started towards the house.

 

The door opened even before the echo of the doorbell died away. To Jamie’s surprise, it wasn’t a butler or a servant who greeted them, but a gentleman dressed in a suit. He had a serious expression stamped across his face.

“Chief Inspector Jamie Carragher,” Jamie said and nodded towards Dirk. “This is my assistant, Dirk Kuyt.”

“I’m Steven Gerrard, Brendan’s nephew,” the man said, showing them into a salon. Itswalls covered in thick dark red wallpapers and full of old portraits. The heavy amber-colored curtains did nothing to help the already stiff and hot air in the room. “My wife, Alex.”

Mrs. Gerrard didn’t bother to get up from the sofa to greet them. She looked pale, tired and annoyed, sitting with her back straight against the backrest of the antique-looking sofa. Her stiff posture reminded Dirk of a marble statue.

“Doctor Morgan is upstairs,” Steven informed them. “The rest of the family will be probably in the dining room.”

“The rest of the family?” Dirk blurted out and immediately received a scolding glance from his boss.

“My uncle called up a family reunion for this weekend. The whole family is here.”

“Then I would like to have a word with you all when I finish with Doctor Morgan,” Jamie said, “with the staff as well.”

“I will inform them.”

Jamie nodded and then pointed to a wide staircase covered with a red carpet. “This way?”

Steven nodded. “My uncle’s room is at the rear end of the corridor.”

Jamie and Dirk walked up the stairs, looking around carefully, in case something would be suspiciously out of place. “All family,” Dirk said when he was sure Steven couldn’t hear them anymore. “That will be a whole lot of suspects, sir.”

 

Doctor Morgan was a middle-aged, practically bald man, who dressed like he was ready to attend a funeral at any time of the day. His black suit went out of fashion some ten years ago, but it was meticulously brushed. A black Homburg hat and a huge leather case completed his look. He shook Jamie’s hand and sighed deeply when Jamie asked him about the cause of death. “A post-mortem will be required, Inspector, but all the symptoms are pointing at strychnine poisoning. That’s why I alerted you.”

“All right, Doctor. Anything else you’ve noticed? Perhaps in the last few days?”

“The last time I saw him was about a month ago. Mr. Rodgers was perfectly healthy, he had his regime that would keep him alive for at least forty years more.”

“What about his mental health?”

“He didn’t show his emotions that much, sir, but… I could tell that something was bothering him.”

“In what sense?”

“He seemed to be upset about something, and complained to me that he had trouble sleeping. I prescribed some sleeping powder for him.”

“He didn’t tell you what the matter was?”

“No,” Doctor Morgan shook his head. “But the last time I was here, I met Mr. Dalglish, his lawyer. Perhaps he could tell you more.”

“He will also know where to find Mr. Rodgers’ last will, if there is one, I suppose?”

“Most probably,” Doctor Morgan nodded and touched the rim of his hat. “Gentlemen.”

“Thank you, Doctor. Please let me know the results of the autopsy as soon as you have them. Good bye.”

 

The room looked exactly like Dirk had imagined it to look. It was the typical room of a childless widower clinging to a family legacy. There were no pictures of family on the walls, nothing making the slightest allusion to personal life. The bed wasn’t yet made for the body had only been removed moments ago. Other than that, nothing in the room seemed to be out of place. 

Jamie walked over to a huge, mahogany writing desk. It was meticulously organized, the pens lined up like soldiers next to two bottles of ink and a stack of blotting papers. In one of the small shelves above the desk, there were envelopes, papers and stamp sheets. The man probably did a lot of correspondence.

Jamie tried to open one of the drawers, but it was locked. The second drawer contained some documents that weren’t of much importance at the first sight; mainly old invitations, postcards, Christmas wishes and thank-you letters from organizations the late Brendan Rodgers funded.

“Do you think the last will is in the first drawer, sir?” Dirk asked.

“I don’t. I think a man like Rodgers would keep it somewhere safer. But there has to be something he considered worth locking up. Some interesting correspondence, for example.”

He looked around the room again. The fireplace was cold and it didn’t seem like it was used recently. The weather wasn’t very cold anyway. The nightstand held a lamp, a book and a porcelain cup.

“Well, we will have to ask someone about that cup,” Jamie said and Dirk immediately made a note in his notebook. “If Mr. Rodgers was indeed poisoned, this was very likely his last cup of tea.”

 

When they returned downstairs, Mrs. Gerrard was just having breakfast which consisted of black coffee and cigarettes. Whether it was only due to stress or if her breakfast always looked like this, Dirk preferred not to know.

“If you want to speak to the whole family, Inspector, you’ll have to wait,” she said. “Two are still missing. Sebastián, another nephew of Brendan, and Javier, my husband’s son. They must be here every minute now, though, we’ve called them.”

“Your husband’s son?” Jamie raised his brows.

“Yes. A memory of his wild youth, if you want to put it delicately,” she said, but there was no bitterness in her voice. “He is about the same age as Alberto, Xabier’s son. But whatever you do, Inspector, don’t put the two youngsters in the same room.”

“Why is that, ma’am?”

“They’d eat each other alive.” She blew out a cloud of smoke. “They can’t stand each other. To the point that Javier is rather staying in a hotel.”

“And the reason of the antipathy?”

“The reason is Alberto. He never fails to imply that Javier doesn’t really belong in this family.” Mrs. Gerrard angrily dabbed the cigarette end in the ashtray. “Such nonsense. He belongs in the family same like Alberto does.”

“You are very protective of your husband’s illegitimate son, Mrs. Gerrard,” Jamie noted.

She looked at him sternly. “Javier is a nice and bright boy,” she said. “And I assume that I have failed to give my husband a son, so I would be the last person to create any kind of tension between us.”

“It is kind of harsh to consider not giving birth to a boy a failure, isn’t it?” Jamie smiled encouragingly.

“In this family, Inspector,” she smiled bitterly. “A murder would be pardoned more easily.”

 

It only took a couple of minutes until the the doorbell rang and then two young men walked in the room. The taller one remained standing at the doorstep rather hesitantly, the other one made way directly to the Gerrards. He shook Steven’s hand and let himself be pulled in some kind of a half-hug, then leaned down to Alex and kissed her on both cheeks. Jamie turned to the other man, leaving the family matters he was not yet able to fully understand, for later.

“Mr. Coates, I suppose?” he asked.

“Yes,” the man said warily.

“I’m Chief Inspector Jamie Carragher. I am investigating your uncle’s death.”

“I’m afraid I won’t be of much help, Inspector,” Sebastián said.

“I hear you currently reside in Sunderland and you weren’t able to make it here yesterday evening.”

“I arrived late in the afternoon. There were some problems on the railway. It was already getting dark when I arrived, so I rather went to the hotel. I phoned uncle Brendan that I would stay there over the night and join the rest of the family in the morning…”

“You went to the same hotel where Mr. Manquillo is staying?”

“Why, of course,” Sebastián smiled. “There is only one hotel here.”

“You saw Mr. Manquillo there, then?”

“Yes. We met for a dinner and then spent most of the night chatting over a glass of brandy… several glasses, actually.” He exchanged mischievous smiles with Javier. Then he looked back at the Chief Inspector and his assistant, who was scribbling in his notebook frantically. 

“Can you give us some precise times, Mr. Coates?” Jamie asked.

“Well, the train arrived I believe around five, I got to the hotel around six. I met Javier at six thirty and we had dinner until eight. Then we went upstairs to his room and stayed there until… it must have been well past midnight when I went back to my room.”

“Then we can conclude that neither of you was in the house at the time of Mr. Rodgers’ death,” Jamie nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Coates.”

Dirk turned a page in his notebook and got his pencil ready when a young butler entered the room. He handed Alex Gerrard a glass of water and two small white pills on a tray. “May I offer you something?” he asked Jamie. “Coffee, perhaps?”

“Thank you. Coffee would indeed come handy.”

“That’s quite some courage you have, Inspector,” Alberto smirked. “I personally would avoid drinking anything in this house, given the situation.”

“God, don’t you have any respect?” Javier barked. “This is not a time for your bad jokes!”

It seemed to Dirk that Jamie immediately regretted not following Mrs. Gerrard’s advice. “Gentlemen, please…” he said exasperatedly and looked around. “Everyone who was in the house last night is in this room, then?”

“No. Daniel is missing,” Xabier Alonso, a gentleman with a ginger beard dressed in a rather careless way, mumbled.

“Who?”

“Daniel. Agger,” Jordan Henderson, who until then kept rather to himself in an armchair close to the fireplace, said. “He’s in his room, and I doubt you will make him come down.”

“Why is that?”

“Daniel is… rather a loner,” Mrs. Gerrard explained, shooting Jordan something that could be a warning glance.

“He’s an odd fish,” Jordan deadpanned. “I’d speak to him first if I were you, Inspector.” 

“Jordan, please,” Steven sighed. “Stop jumping into conclusions.”

“I will speak to everyone in this house, but thank you for your recommendation, Mr. Henderson,” Jamie said calmly. “I will speak to everyone separately, so that the rest of you can retire. I suppose you are all very tired after the early morning drama.”

“That is some way to call a death,” Alberto snorted.

Javier took a breath again, but was stopped by Alex who grabbed his hand. “Let it be, darling,” she said in a lazy, elevated tone of voice. “Some people don’t have manners and it won’t change, whatever you do.”

Jamie would have to be blind if he was to miss the look of loathing she shot in Xabier Alonso’s direction.

 

Whatever Daniel Agger’s nature was, his looks already made him fairly different from the rest of the family. He wore a simple shirt with the sleeves rolled up, which revealed his tattooed forearms. His hair was shorter than was socially acceptable in the high society his family obviously belonged to, and his face looked strangely wild. There was not a trace of the classic English features that could be found in his relatives.

“I was expecting you,” he said calmly, a slight accent on his words. “My relatives probably already warned you of Daniel Agger, the black sheep of the family.”

“They didn’t use these words,” Jamie said calmly. “Well, Mr. Agger, I understood you are…”

“Yet another nephew?” Agger chuckled. “My mother was Brendan’s sister. She married a Dane and moved to Denmark. When my father left her, she returned here with me.”

“You lived here, then?”

“Until I was fifteen. Then I ran away and went on the sea. My stays in Merseyside were rather short and sparse after that. I spent most of the time on the sea. My uncle made it clear then that he would disinherit me if I didn’t come back and lead a life he considered suitable for his nephew.” He laughed humorlessly. “You have the wrong person, Inspector. I wouldn’t kill him for money when my name wasn’t even in the will.”

“You could still kill him _because_ he disinherited you. That also sounds like a plausible motive.”

“I can assure you that I wanted nothing from him. I wanted my freedom and I have it. I will gladly leave the vultures downstairs fight for whatever is there to take.”

Jamie was about to say something when the door burst open and the young butler walked in. “Daniel, I…” he stopped when he saw the two policemen. “Excuse me, I will come later.”

The door closed after him and Jamie cleared his throat. “May I know something about your relationship with the rest of the family members? So far, I deduced Mr. Henderson isn’t very fond of you.”

“Nor am I of him,” Daniel made a face. “They are all hypocrites, the most important thing for them is their good name, and right after that, money. That goes for everyone, even for Alberto and Steven’s bastard. Well, _mainly_ for them. They are worse than their parents, actually.”

“Is there anyone you actually talk to, Mr. Agger?” Jamie asked, unable to help a smirk. To his surprise, Daniel smiled as well.

“Sebastián is the best out of that lot,” he said. “He’s a bit outcast as well. Probably due to the bit of Scottish blood he has. That repelled my uncle like lavender repels clothes moths.”

 

“Well, what do you think, sir?” Dirk asked when they walked out of Daniel’s room, followed by the searching gaze of the butler.

“He is, indeed, an odd fish, if I’m to borrow Mr. Henderson’s words, but…” Jamie sighed and scratched his unshaven cheek. “To me he looks more like the type that would kill someone with his bare hands. Not a poisoner.”

“When you speak of it, sir,” Dirk said and bit his lip. “I’ve been thinking…”

“Yes?” Jamie asked and nodded encouragingly. His assistant was much brighter than he looked, but he was always too shy to share his opinion with the Chief Inspector.

“Well, as you said, Mr. Agger doesn’t look like a poisoner, and the statistics say that very ofter, when a poison is used, the murderer is…”

“Yes?” Jamie raised his brows.

“A woman.”

 

“You, Mr. Gerrard, are a bank accountant, am I right?” 

“A secretary, actually,” Steven said, somehow offended.

“Of course,” Jamie mumbled. “In Liverpool?”

“Yes.”

“So you don’t reside here.”

“No. But my wife and daughters spend a lot of time here. The air is better here. I come here at the weekends, when my work allows it.”

“All right, then let’s go back to yesterday. When was the last time you saw your uncle?”

“After dinner. He retired early.”

“Did anything unusual happen? Some quarrel, perhaps?”

The corners of Steven’s mouth twitched. “You can’t expect a calm dinner when Daniel and Jordan are sitting at one table. But it didn’t exceed the usual level.”

“When your uncle retired, what were you doing?”

“My wife went upstairs because she wasn’t feeling well. I stayed in the salon with Xabi and Jordan, we talked about business a little bit. We stayed there until about midnight.”

“Your room is the closest to Mr. Rodgers’ room, am I right?” Jamie asked, looking at the notes Dirk had made earlier. 

“Yes. I think this is why we didn’t know there was something wrong. Me and Xabi were here, and Alex… I think she took her sleeping powder, so she probably didn’t hear anything either.”

Jamie had no more questions. He couldn’t prove that anything Steven had said was untrue, but he had a strange feeling that if someone of the family suspected something was wrong with the master of the house, they wouldn’t rush to help him.

 

The questioning of Mrs. Gerrard was short. She claimed to have gone to her room and taking sleeping powder. She heard nothing and knew nothing, until her husband roused her early in the morning.

 

Javier Manquillo didn’t have a striking resemblance with his father the way Alberto and Xabier had, but there were things he’d certainly learned from him. He dressed impeccably in every circumstances and had the same nonchalant gestures.

“I know you weren’t here, so I won’t hold you up for long, Mr. Manquillo,” Jamie said. “I just need to clarify a few things.”

“Sure.”

“You reside in England?”

“I study Biology. At the John Moores University.”

“Who pays for your studies?”

“My father does.”

“When did you last visit the Melwood Mansion?”

“It was last month, just for the weekend.”

“Your father was here with you?”

“No, he was in Liverpool, but Alex and the girls were here.”

“Did you notice any change in your great-uncle’s behavior?”

Javier laughed for the first time. “Brendan was like a sphinx. You couldn’t really tell if he loved you or despised you. And maybe I preferred not to know.”

 

Jordan Henderson was a sports reporter for The Times. He was thus accustomed to be brief and precise and it showed also in his way of speaking.

“Uncle Brendan was a grouch,” he said calmly, lighting a cigarette. “Nobody liked him. Only some, like Steven, were able to tolerate him.”

“Did anyone dislike him to the point they would want to kill him?” Jamie asked.

“I already expressed my opinion about this.”

Jamie suppressed a sigh. “You spent the evening here in the salon, is that right?”

“Yes, with Steven and Xabi.”

“Was it common for your uncle to turn in early?”

“Yes. He always had his evening tea at ten and went to bed soon after. He’d be up at four in the morning, though. He had the habits of a seventy year-old.”

 

If there was someone Dirk would suspect just after looking at them (and Daniel Agger didn’t count), if it was for him, it was Xabier Alonso. He looked restless, confused and nervous, kept tapping his foot on the floor and straightening the tie he had tied in a completely wrong manner anyway, and he stammered in every second sentence he said.

“Mr. Gerrard told us that you were with him in the salon after dinner, is that right?” Jamie asked.

“Jordan was also with us,” Xabier said hastily like Steven’s claims couldn’t be trusted on their own.

“You heard nothing, then? Around eleven o’clock or earlier?”

“No. No, we talked here. I went to bed at midnight. I slept until the morning when I heard the others rushing to my uncle’s room.”

“What was your relationship with Mr. Rodgers like?”

“It was… Well, it was a normal relationship between an uncle and a nephew.”

“But I understand Mr. Rodgers didn’t treat all his nephews the same way.”

A shadow fell over Xabier’s face. “If you mean Daniel, he got what he deserved. He’s an ungrateful, rude and reclusive bastard.”

“Does the same go for Mr. Coates?”

Xabier startled, then let his shoulders sag and sighed deeply. “No,” he admitted. “But I guess there is always an invisible child within a family as big as ours. It just happened to be him.”

 

“You live here, Mr. Moreno?” Jamie asked, helping himself to a second cup of coffee.

“No, I’m staying at my college at the moment.”

“What do you study?”

“Medicine. At the University of Cambridge. That one at least has prestige, unlike others.”

Jamie pretended that he didn’t hear the last part. Family problems weren’t what they came for, unless they were connected to Brendan Rodgers’ death. “What were you doing last night, Mr. Moreno? At, let’s say, eleven o’clock?”

The boy fidgeted and furrowed his brows as if trying to remember. “I went for a walk late in the evening, but I don’t remember what time I got back.”

“Did you meet anyone while out walking?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“And when you came back?”

“I didn’t talk to anyone.”

“Do you mean that everyone was already asleep?”

“That I don’t know, but I went straight to my room.”

Jamie exchanged looks with Dirk and then looked back at Alberto. “Thank you, that will be all.”

 

“You, Mr. Kelly, are the butler here, am I right?”

Martin nodded, blinking in surprise when Jamie called him ‘Mr. Kelly’.

“It’s quite a big mansion, you surely don’t do everything by yourself. Who cleans the house, for example?”

“Gemma, a servant. But she left at half past five yesterday, she had some family problems and needed to leave. She cleaned after the afternoon tea and left.” 

Dirk made a note.

“Who else is there?” Jamie asked.

“Well, the gardener, but he wasn’t here yesterday. He comes only twice a week. And then the cook, Mr. Neville.”

“Who usually prepared Mr. Rodgers’ evening tea?”

“I did,” Martin said. 

“Also last night?”

“Yes.”

“The cup we found in Mr. Rodgers’ room… was it the one you brought him his tea in?”

“Yes,” Martin nodded, fidgeting nervously. “But I didn’t put anything in it besides sugar, I swear!”

“At what time did you bring it to him?” 

“At ten. As always.”

“What was Mr. Rodgers doing?”

“He was writing something.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“I just told him that Mr. Coates would arrive in the morning, and then I left.”

“All right. Last question - the first drawer of your master’s table is locked. Do you know where he kept the keys?”

“He always carried them around,” Martin answered, a bit astonished. “He’d always put them on the night stand when he went to sleep.”

Dirk lifted his head and looked at Jamie. It was now clear that there was more in the house than met the eye. The keys were missing.

 

Jamie and Dirk proceeded to looking around the house for possible evidence. Dirk checked the sugar bowl Martin claimed to have used the night before, and took a sample of the sugar. Jamie had to give him credit. Whoever the murderer was could have poisoned not the tea itself, but the sugar. Then Martin would have poisoned his master unwittingly.

They walked into the garden last. The soil was soft for it had been raining the previous day. When he walked to the fence, Jamie suddenly stopped and crouched down, inspecting something. Then he walked back to the kitchen door. “Mr. Kelly, who in the house uses a bicycle?” he asked.

“A bicycle?” Martin blinked. “There are no bicycles in this house, sir. They have cars.”

“Who has a car in the house?”

“Mr. Gerrard, Mr. Alonso, Mr. Henderson and Mr. Manquillo.”

Jamie nodded and then beckoned Dirk. They started towards their car in silence. “What was it about a bicycle?” Dirk asked then.

“I found bicycle marks by the fence,” Jamie said. “I don’t know if it means anything, but if nobody in the family has a bicycle…”

“Then the murderer doesn’t have to be from the family?” Dirk asked breathlessly. “Now we’re completely lost.”

 

*

 

Xabier Alonso was watching the Chief Inspector’s car disappear behind the hill, the curtain covering the large window only slightly pushed aside. He startled when the person behind him shuffled their feet on the carpet.

“You know what they say,” Steven chuckled. “The one who startles doesn’t have his conscience clear.”

Xabi groaned in annoyance and stepped back from the window. Steven watched him, the amusement gone from both his voice and his face. “Xabi? Xabi!”

The other man stopped circling around the room and looked at him. “What?”

“You don’t have anything to do with… this, do you?”

Xabi made a vague gesture and then sat in an armchair, looking up at Steven. “I didn’t kill Brendan.”

“But you know who did?”

“No!” Xabi gasped. “I don’t know anything! You do?”

“No,” Steven shook his head. “But I thought… God, Xabi, you’re acting like… the police are surely suspecting you by now.”

“I’m just nervous,” Xabi sighed. “I don’t want anyone to dig into our family matters. I don’t want anyone to find out about the things long buried.”

 

_ A tiny room in the quieter part of the noisy city. The smell of fresh oranges in the air and almost sickening aroma of sweet cinnamon from the stand where they make fresh  _ churros _ on the street. Occasional voices rose from the street . The language is foreign for one of them while for the other it’s the one he used to fall asleep to, in lullabies sung and stories read before bed.  _

_They don’t know when or how it all began. For them, love doesn’t have a precise beginning nor end. It always begins indefinitely, like watercolors running one into another on wet paper._

_The blood running through their veins has the same shade, the same stories told and untold by their ancestors. The younger boy remembers the strange feeling at the pit of his stomach when the older one’s lips first touched his. He couldn’t tell if it was pleasure or disgust. Most likely, it was nothing else than fear._

“ _We can’t…”_

“ _If it doesn’t hurt you, it can’t be bad. And I don’t want to hurt you.”_

_He believed him then, he believes him now, he would believe him forever._

 

*

 

“Who is the suspect, sir?” Dirk asked when Jamie finally put all the notes in order and leaned back in his chair.

“Everyone and no one,” Jamie sighed.

“What about Mr. Gerrard?” Dirk suggested. “His alibi are Alonso and Henderson, but they wouldn’t find it strange if he excused himself for a moment and…”

“Gerrard wouldn’t need the money so desperately to commit a murder,” Jamie shook his head. “He has a good job, his wife comes from a wealthy family, he’s able to support his illegitimate son while not taking anything from his three daughters… And everyone has said he was probably the closest to Brendan. Also, he has three daughters… a responsible father that he surely is would not risk being hanged for murder for some small reason - and he has no big apparent one.”

“His wife, then?”

“She’d have even less reasons. Rodgers let her stay in his house whenever she wanted to. Definitely there weren’t any problems in their relationship. As for money, she wouldn’t get anything significant.”

“Then Henderson?”

“Henderson is a mystery for me,” Jamie admitted. “I can’t quite grasp him. He’s quickly done with everything, he has his opinion and gets offended when one doesn’t accept it immediately. He’s fairly straightforward, but the way he tends to accuse others…”

“Like Agger.”

“Like Agger. But as I said, Agger doesn’t seem likely to be the murderer. Not with this way of murder, at least.”

“And Moreno? He studies Medicine. He’d know how to use strychnine, and he’d probably have access to it. Only an authorized person could buy it in the drug store, and a medic would be an authorized person. Also his alibi is pretty vague.”

“But why would he murder his great-uncle?” Jamie shrugged. “Well, we’ll leave it for tonight. We will know more after we talk to the lawyer.”

 

*

 

The fire in the fireplace burned bright, making the room warmer than would be comfortable during the hot night.

_You have disappointed me beyond…_

The paper curled up and glowed red for a moment before turning into ashes.

… _brought disgrace upon our family…_

… _disgusting practices…_

The fire swallowed the words gratefully, not hurt by them the way they had hurt before.

… _your cousin…_

… _will take measures…_

Erased from this world but not from the memory, the words were burned forever into the man’s memory.

… _it has to end immediately. I will not let you two destroy the good name of our family._

The last letter turned into nothing and Xabier Alonso sat back on his heels, wiped his forehead and looked contentedly at the empty drawer.

 

*

 

Jamie and Dirk were to meet Kenneth Dalglish, Rodgers’ lawyer, at Melwood Mansion as they all had work there anyway.

When they arrived, well after breakfast, they walked into a living portrait of a perfect family, with the Gerrards as the objects. Steven was reading the newspapers, Alex was arranging flowers in the vases, helped by her oldest daughter while the youngest watched them with interest. The other daughter was practicing the violin by the window, under the watchful eye of Javier Manquillo.

Steven folded the newspapers and got up. “Gentlemen,” he said and shook their hands. “Anything new?”

“No,” Jamie admitted reluctantly. “We hope our talk with Mr. Dalglish will enlighten us more.”

“He’s waiting in my uncle’s study room,” Steven said. “Martin will show you the way.”

The butler, still standing by the door, nodded politely.

“Oh, by the way,” Jamie said and turned back. “The keys to Mr. Rodgers’ drawers… haven’t they turned up?”

Steven blinked confusedly. Martin shook his head. “I searched for them, sir, but they are nowhere to be found.”

“So the murderer probably still has them,” Dirk sighed.

“Javi, what is a _murderer_?” a bright girl’s voice chimed in as the sound of violin broke off abruptly.

Alex Gerrard cleared her throat. Dirk blushed and glanced nervously at Jamie who immediately gave him a scolding glance. “Well… we better…” he stammered and almost tiptoed out of the room.

“Play on, Lexie,” Javier said calmly like no question was ever asked.

 

Kenneth Dalglish was waiting in the study. Jamie and Dirk sat in the rather uncomfortable chairs at the writing desk.

“Mr. Dalglish, I was told that you met Mr. Rodgers about a month ago. What did you talk about?”

“Mr. Rodgers wanted to change his will,” Dalglish said.

“Change in what sense?”

Dalglish hesitated. “I can’t tell you the contents of the current will before it is officially read out.”

“Who would have profited the most from his death prior to the change of will?” Jamie asked. “I believe you can tell me that.”

“I probably can. Mr. Gerrard and Mr. Alonso would get fair shares, also the money needed to keep up the mansion.”

“But this has changed with the new will?”

“Yes.”

Jamie sighed. He knew Dalglish had to keep his mouth shut, but hell, was the ethics a pain in the arse!

“Was anyone else present to your meeting?” Dirk asked suddenly. Well, he could be bright when he wanted to.

“No, sir. Mr. Rodgers and I were alone in the study. Only the butler brought us tea, but then left. Mr. Rodgers didn’t say anything in front of him.”

Jamie nodded thoughtfully. At least now they had a plausible motive for whoever the murderer was.

 

“Mr. Kelly, I have a few more questions,” Jamie said and looked at the butler while the lawyer went to speak with Steven. “A month ago, Mr. Rodgers had a meeting with Mr. Dalglish. Do you remember it?”

“Yes, sir. They met in Mr. Rodgers’ study room.”

“And you brought them tea,” Jamie nodded. “Could anyone overhear their conversation?”

“If you suggest that I listened behind the door…”

“Oh no, Mr. Kelly, I didn’t mean you,” Jamie smiled. “Was anyone else in the house at the time of the meeting?”

“Mrs. Gerrard was staying here with her daughters.”

“Was she anywhere near the study when Mr. Rodgers talked to his lawyer?”

“No, sir, I would have seen her on my way. I met her at the kitchen shortly after Mr. Dalglish left. She asked me for some lemonade.”

“She asked you for lemonade,” Jamie repeated thoughtfully.

“Yes. She said it was hot outside and she was thirsty.”

“What was she doing outside?”

“I don’t know, sir. I suppose she might had been reading.”

“Very well,” Jamie nodded and got up. “Would you mind showing us the window of the study room from the outside?”

They walked out in the garden and Martin pointed to a window in the first floor. Jamie looked up and then his eyes fell on the white-painted wooden bench that stood almost exactly under that window.

“Don’t you remember, Mr. Kelly, was the window open when you brought in the tea?” he asked.

“Yes, it was, sir,” Martin replied without hesitation. “As I said already, the weather was very hot on that day.”

“Thank you, that will be all,” Jamie said and turned to Dirk. “Finally we are getting somewhere.”

 

The results of the autopsy came the next day, confirming strychnine poisoning. The analysis of the remaining tea in the cup found in Brendan Rodgers’ room revealed that the strychnine was administered in it.

Martin Kelly was on the brink of mental breakdown. For some reason, Jamie couldn’t bring himself to suspect the young butler, leave alone to arrest him. “Mr. Kelly, try to remember what you did when you prepared the tea. If I’m to believe you, I need to know how the strychnine could possibly get into the cup.”

“I did everything like I always do, I…” the butler blurted out.

“Is it possible that anyone else could approach the cup and slip the poison in it?” Jamie asked.

“No, I… I would have seen him, I prepared the tea in the kitchen and then went straight to Mr. Rodgers’ room…”

Jamie sighed. Things really didn’t look good for the man, but he couldn’t help himself thinking that if he arrested him, the real murderer would rejoice. “Mr. Kelly, if you remember something, please, let me know,” he said finally. “Because if we don’t figure out how it all happened, I will have to arrest you.”

Not paying attention to Dirk’s dumbfounded face, he turned to leave. Martin Kelly didn’t move from the spot, pale and shivering. And when he saw Sebastián Coates looking at him curiously from the doorstep, he paled even more.

 

*

 

_Different city. Different room. Different time. Rain behind the windows, smoke and the fresh smell of spring. Voices speaking the language that is both foreign and familiar to them._

_He stands in front of the full mirror, buttoning up his vest carefully. He notices the other boy’s amused smile._

“ _This ginger beard of yours,” the boy snorts. “Why don’t you shave it off?”_

“ _I kind of like it. Don’t be jealous because you don’t have anything to shave yet.”_

“ _If you think it makes you look older and more manly, you are mistaken,” the boy yawns and stretches in the bed lazily. “Same as this vest. You dress like your father.”_

“ _Sometimes I wonder if you really love me,” he says, the hurt badly hidden in his voice._

“ _I do,” the younger boy says and scrambles out of the bed, standing behind him and whispering the words right in his ear soothingly: “I do.”_

 

Jamie was enjoying his morning tea when the telephone on his desk rang. With a sigh he put the cup down and answered it.

“Chief Inspector Jamie Carragher.”

“Inspector?” Alex Gerrard’s very distressed voice sounded from the phone. “You need to come at once. There has been another death.”

 

The whole family was up again, but this time they were dispersed around the house. Jamie walked into the butler’s room where Doctor Morgan was already waiting. The Gerrards and Jordan Henderson remained standing at the doorstep.

“Who found him?” Jamie asked.

“I did,” Mrs. Gerrard said, still pale and shivering. “I rang the bell. When he didn’t appear, it annoyed me. I went to his room and…”

“I heard Alex,” Jordan Henderson nodded. “I mean, I heard the bell and then I heard her shriek. I ran to her at once.”

Jamie had no doubts about the authenticity of these claims. Mrs. Gerrard looked like she was the true head of the family and running across the house to scold a negligent servant was exactly what he would expect her to do. “You went to call me right after you found the body, then?” he asked her.

“Yes. I met Jordan on my way and told him what happened, then went straight to the telephone.”

“I think it’s clear now,” Jordan said.

“What is clear, Mr. Henderson?” Jamie looked at him.

“Well, Martin killed uncle Brendan, and now he killed himself.”

Jamie had to admit that it made sense, at least it had to make sense for someone like Henderson. He abstained himself from commenting on it, though. “I will have a talk with Doctor Morgan now,” he said. “Mrs. Gerrard, I suggest you rest, you look very shaken.”

Alex nodded and headed to the salon, supported by her husband. Jordan Henderson followed them, obviously contented with the outcome of the whole thing. Jamie turned to the doctor. “Poisoning again?” he asked.

“Yes, but not strychnine,” Doctor Morgan said.

“Then?”

“Aconite. Wolfsbane is what they call the plant. A very strong infusion.”

“Does the corpse tell you that?”

“The corpse only speaks of asphyxia so far, but it’s much more simple, Inspector,” the doctor smiled. “The rests of it are still in the cup… and I bet they are also in the kettle on the table.” 

Dirk strolled to the table where a simple white kettle was standing on a tray. He lifted the lid and nodded.

“Anything else that you noticed, Doctor?” Jamie asked.

“Yes, a rather curious thing. A broken rib.”

“A broken rib in a case of poisoning?” Jamie frowned. “How would that happen?”

“By applying pressure on his chest. It is called the Silvester Method. It’s basically a procedure of artificial respiration.”

Jamie looked at him with astonishment. “Someone tried to revive him, then? You, Doctor?”

“No, when I arrived it was already too late,” the doctor shook his head.

“It was me,” sounded from the door.

Jamie turned around. Daniel Agger was standing at the doorstep.

 

“Mr. Agger,” Doctor Morgan said in a soft voice before turning to Jamie. “For me it explains everything, Inspector. The Silvester Method is very often applied in cases of drowning. A sailor would know it. I will leave you now. I am done here for now.”

Daniel Agger didn’t move from his spot until the doctor was gone. Only then he took a step into the room. There was something wild in his eyes as he walked up to Jamie slowly. “I know that Martin would never kill my uncle, I’m sure of that,” he said.

“Mr. Agger…” Jamie started.

Daniel lifted his hand and stopped him, the good manners instilled in him a long time ago showing through the rough facade for a moment. “But even more I’m sure that he’d never kill himself. Never.”

Jamie just kept looking at him. He was sure Agger had more to say, but he wasn’t going to pressure him.

“I don’t know who killed my uncle and I don’t know who did this to Martin. If I did, I’d kill that person. But as things stand, it’s up to you to find that person,” he said and looked Jamie right in the eyes. “Find them and bring them to justice. For him.”

Before Jamie could answer, Agger was gone like he was never there.

 

Jamie was ready to leave the room when he heard Dirk make a surprised noise. “What is it?” Jamie asked.

“The bed,” Dirk said, carefully lifting the sheet. “It’s damp.”

Jamie frowned and came closer. He knew enough about poisons to not try to touch the sheet, but it was clear that Dirk was right. Looking around the room, he noticed a stain on the carpet. It looked fresh as well. “Note this down,” he told Dirk. “It might be important.”

 

“Kelly’s death complicates things even more,” Dirk sighed.

“Maybe it makes them easier,” Jamie said with a serious face. “At least we know more about some members of the family. The event confirmed a theory of mine. But it leaves a lot of questions.”

“What questions?”

“Well, Mrs. Gerrard finds Kelly, but she can’t be sure that he really is dead. Yet she goes right to the phone and informs me of his death. Then there is another question. The whole house is probably up by this point, and aware of what happened. Daniel Agger, who never leaves his room, appears in Kelly’s room and tries to revive him. But we have a medic in the house. Where is Mr. Moreno and why doesn’t he do anything? He could either try to help him or confirm his death, but he does neither. Well, we don’t know why, but we may know already what brought Daniel Agger to that room, and what motivated his fiery speech afterwards.”

“You mean that Kelly and Agger were…”

“I would say that their relationship definitely went beyond the master-servant relationship.”

“But you said you had this theory even before,” Dirk objected. “How did you know that?”

“Kelly addressed everyone with their surnames. Mr. Gerrard, Mr. Alonso, even the young men. But he called Agger ‘Daniel’ when he walked in his room.”

“But what do you make of it all? Kelly could have just killed himself, regardless of what was between him and Agger.”

Jamie shook his head. “I don’t believe the suicide scenario, to be honest.”

“Then you believe Agger’s theories?”

“I have doubts myself, no matter what Mr. Agger thinks.”

“Why is that?”

“First, why would Kelly kill Rodgers? Then, where would he get the strychnine from? And finally, I made it quite obvious that I didn’t suspect him. Why would he kill himself?”

“Remorse?” Dirk suggested.

“Maybe, but why would he use a different poison on himself? And then the infusion spilt all over the place… No, I don’t believe Kelly committed suicide. I think Agger was right.”

“Right about what?”

“We have another murder here.”

 

*

 

“ _It’s so tiring. I feel like I’m forgetting who I really am, because I’m playing this game. Pretending I am who they want me to be. I don’t know what I really think and what are just lies anymore.”_

_The other boy doesn’t answer. There is nothing to say because everything has already been said during the countless nights like this one._

“ _It’s not hard to trick them. But to lie to them constantly is destroying me.” He closes his eyes and sighs exasperatedly._

“ _To lie is easier than to tell them,” the soothing voice whispers just inches from his ear. “They wouldn’t understand. Us two can only be understood by us two again.”_

 

Kenneth Dalglish was preparing to read the last will and testament left by Brendan Rodgers. Dirk, sitting in the corner of the room, took his time observing the family members. 

Steven Gerrard and his wife looked tired. Alex was waving herself with a fan and from time to time smiled weakly at Javier Manquillo, who kept checking on her with certain concern. Xabier Alonso looked more nervous than ever. His leg was jumping and he had to sit with his legs crossed to hide it. Alberto looked bored and uninterested, his face the opposite of Jordan Henderson’s, who looked even curious. Daniel Agger and Sebastián Coates were keeping to themselves further away from the rest of the family.

Dalglish unfolded the paper and cleared his throat. “I, Brendan Rodgers, being of sound mind and disposing memory, do hereby make, publish and declare this to be my Last Will and Testament, hereby revoking all Wills by me heretofore made,” he read in a solemn voice.

Dirk noticed a twitch in Xabier Alonso’s face.

“I do hereby leave the Melwood Mansion and the funds necessary to run it, as specified below, to my great-nephew Alberto Moreno.”

A collective gasp cut through the silence. The surprise on Alberto’s face, if Dirk could judge, was genuine. 

“I bequeath my shares in the London, Midland and Scottish Railway to my nephew Jordan Henderson. All the rest, residue and remainder of my estate, of every kind and nature, of which I may die seized or possessed, to my great-nephew, Javier Manquillo.”

Now the voices grew louder. Dirk himself was taken by surprise. Rodgers disinherited not only Agger and Coates, which everyone supposed he would do, but he left out Gerrard and Alonso as well. In the middle of the quarrel beginning to form, the telephone in the hall rang. Nobody in the room moved. Finally Alex Gerrard raised her voice: “Will nobody answer the damn telephone?”

Only after that a young female servant ran out of the kitchen and answered the phone. Jamie got up and went to the hall. “You are Gemma, am I right, Miss?” he asked when she put the speaker back.

“Yes, sir.”

“I noticed that nobody of the family wanted to answer the phone. Do they never do it?”

“No, sir. The butler would answer the phone, before…” Her eyes filled with tears.

It was like a lightning cut through the roof of the house and hit Jamie. Contrary to his usual conduct, he practically hugged Gemma and ran to the door.

“Sir!” Dirk called and jumped up. “Where are you going?”

“I need to verify something,” Jamie answered and stopped momentarily so that his assistant could catch up with him. “I know how it was done, and I have a good idea of who did it.”

 

_He opens his eyes and looks in the warm brown ones. His body feels weary and his mind is tired. He cannot comprehend how the boy above him looks so fresh, so awake and so unapologetic. His eyes close again on their own. “What is it that draws us to each other?” he whispers. “It must be some bad blood.”_

_A soft gasp escapes him when the other boy bites down on his lip, drawing blood._

“ _It doesn’t taste bad.”_

 

*

 

Jamie was back at the Melwood Mansion the next morning, this time accompanied by a police car that stayed outside.

“I need everyone to come to the salon,” Jamie said in his most authoritative voice. He had solved many cases, but the outcome of this one made him inexplicably angry.

In some twenty minutes, the whole family was gathered in the salon.

“I came to tell you that we already know who is responsible for the murders,” Jamie said.

“Excuse me,” Steven frowned. “Did you say _murders_?”

“Yes. The murders of Mr. Rodgers and Mr. Kelly,” Jamie said calmly. “We’ll start with the first murder. That one was so clever that if it wasn’t for Mr. Kelly’s death, I would probably still have no clue about who and how did it. The strychnine was administered in Mr. Rodgers’ evening tea, which was only handled by Mr. Kelly. The murder was very carefully planned and there was little evidence.” He looked at the stupefied faces of the family. “The second murder was, however, not planned. The murderer had to use whatever was on hand, because he didn’t think of bringing more poison. It wasn’t too hard to find some wolfsbane around, it grows in every second garden. It would be one of the first things someone with a knowledge of poisons would think of. Mr. Moreno, do you know what aconite does?”

“Well,” Alberto said, stirring in his chair. “It causes paralysis, and eventually the respiratory system shuts down. It would be similar to hemlock poisoning, but faster.”

“Right. A medic would know that,” Jamie nodded. “But so would, I believe, a biologist.” He looked straight at Javier Manquillo, who was keeping close to Alex and Steven. To his disgust, the young man didn’t bat an eyelash. “You, Mr. Manquillo, poisoned Mr. Kelly. But you wouldn’t be able to do it alone. You needed an accomplice.” 

“I hope you don’t insinuate that my son…” Xabier Alonso stood up.

“Oh, no, I believe Mr. Moreno is innocent. No, Mr. Manquillo’s accomplice was someone else. For both the murders of Mr. Rodgers and Mr. Kelly.”

“What are you even saying?” Alex Gerrard yelled and jumped up, but overcome by sudden weakness dropped back in the armchair.

Jamie’s eyes didn’t leave Manquillo’s face. “You, Mr. Manquillo, sneaked in the kitchen where Mr. Kelly was preparing Mr. Rodgers his usual evening tea. You waited for the telephone to ring as you knew Mr. Kelly would go to answer it. How did you know it would ring? Of course, it was your accomplice calling. Then you slipped a lethal dose of strychnine in the cup and left. But when we discovered that the poison was administered in the tea, Mr. Kelly realized that there was only one moment when it could have happened. He would unmask your accomplice, and that would endanger both of you. So you again sneaked inside the house - getting in the servants’ rooms wasn’t so difficult, mainly with your accomplice inside the house - and the two of you forced Mr. Kelly to drink an infusion of wolfsbane.”

“Wait!” Steven finally found his voice. “Javier couldn’t have killed Brendan. He was at the hotel.”

“Oh yes, his alibi,” the Inspector nodded. “That was the most clever part. Of course, Mr. Coates arrived that evening from Sunderland, and met Mr. Manquillo at the hotel. They spent the whole night together - except for the part when Mr. Manquillo rode a bike to Melwood Mansion to poison Mr. Rodgers. When Mr. Coates made a phone call to inform you all that he was staying at the hotel and would arrive in the morning.”

The silence was almost palpable.

“Yes. Mr. Coates was Mr. Manquillo’s accomplice. And probably the one who plotted Mr. Kelly’s murder, as Mr. Manquillo had no reason to kill him. Mr. Kelly didn’t see him in the kitchen, he would have no proof. But he knew who called that evening.” 

“But why would Javier and Sebastián even kill uncle Brendan?” Jordan asked.

“The motive was Brendan Rodgers’ last will. A month ago, he accidentally found out about a family secret that had been well kept for years. He found out about the relationship between Mr. Gerrard and Mr. Alonso.”

Daniel Agger laughed heartily and everyone jumped up. “Did he seriously not know that?” Daniel asked. “Poor uncle Brendan! I thought everyone knew.”

“Well, Mr. Rodgers found out, and whether it was a matter of the past or if it still continued, he was very upset. He had a strict opinion about such relationships, and he decided to change his will. Up to that point, Mr. Gerrard was supposed to get the biggest share, with Mr. Alonso coming second. But then Mr. Rodgers called his lawyer and explained the matter to him. In his new will, he simply moved the rights to the sons. He called this family reunion to announce it. But he was unaware that someone already knew.”

“But how did Javier know about the change of will?” Jordan asked. 

“Mrs. Gerrard was staying here with her daughters. When Mr. Rodgers met Mr. Dalglish, she happened to overhear their conversation. She promptly informed Mr. Manquillo, and Mr. Manquillo realized that his great-uncle’s death would make him rich, but only if Mr. Rodgers died quickly.”

“What sense is in that?” Jordan frowned.

“The thing is that there is a better kept secret within this family,” Jamie smiled. “Like father, like son. Isn’t it true, Mr. Manquillo? Mr. Moreno?”

 

“ _It’s so hard to pretend that I hate you, Javi.”_

“ _It won’t be forever,” the boy whispers. “I promise. It won’t be forever.”_

 

“Mr. Rodgers’ fate was sealed by then. The family reunion was a great opportunity to do it. Mr. Manquillo knew who to turn to when looking for an accomplice. Mr. Coates, the ignored, unloved nephew. He had enough bitterness in him. ”

“These are some nice speculations, Inspector,” Manquillo smiled. “It will be interesting to see what the jury will think about them. But as for physical evidence, Inspector, do you have any?”

“I will have it,” Jamie said, forcing his voice to stay calm and determined. “But even presumptive evidence is evidence.”

“Obviously, if the prosecution will think so,” Manquillo nodded. “Then I suppose you should arrest me.”

Dirk looked at him and for a second he would swear that he saw the Devil in the face of the young man.

 

*

 

“He was very keen on you arresting him, sir,” Dirk noted when they arrived at the station.

“Of course,” Jamie sighed. “We have mostly presumptive evidence. That a bike is missing from the hotel and we found bike marks in the garden doesn’t directly prove it was Manquillo who used it, unless we find the bike at least. That Coates called while Kelly was preparing the tea doesn’t prove it was Maquillo who poisoned the tea. And that we know from the doorman of Manquillo’s house in Liverpool that Moreno visited him often perhaps proves that they aren’t enemies, but not that Manquillo killed Rodgers. He’s not stupid. I know what he plays on. If we don’t persuade the jury or if his lawyer manages to call our presumptions into question, the jury will acquit him. And then, even if we find evidence, he’s forever safe. A person can’t be charged twice with the same crime.”

 

*

 

Javier Manquillo appeared in the dock, charged with “Willful Murders of Brendan Rodgers and Martin Kelly”. He pleaded “Not Guilty”.

The Gerrards, and Dirk supposed mainly Alex, didn’t waste time to engage the best lawyer they could find. José Mourinho would defend a man who killed José’s own mother and still persuade the jury the man was innocent. Money was the only thing he cared about.

He made quick work of the witnesses and grinned wickedly in Jamie’s face when he cross-interrogated him about the evidence.

“Gentlemen,” he turned to the jury finally. “Chief Inspector Carragher built this case on surmises and testimonies of people not connected with the case at all. He presented no physical evidence. The missing bicycle was never found and Mr. Manquillo was never seen riding it. There is no proof that Mr. Manquillo was at the house the evening of the murder. Nobody saw him there. But at least ten people saw him at the hotel, nobody saw him leaving it. But mainly, Chief Inspector Carragher never found out where Mr. Manquillo got hold of the strychnine, which, as we know, can only be purchased by authorized person. He could never find out, because Mr. Manquillo never got hold of it. But I can provide a piece of evidence, if Your Honor allows me to do so.”

The judge raised his brows. “What is that piece of evidence, Mr. Mourinho?”

José smiled contentedly. “The register book from a dispensary of the University of Cambridge. With a record of strychnine - exactly the dose found in the remaining tea in Mr. Rodgers’ room - being handed over… to Mr. Alberto Moreno.”

 

“ _Sometimes I imagine…” Alberto whispers, looking out at the dark Liverpool streets. “Living somewhere nobody would know us…” He turns back, looking at Javier who is scribbling something at the table. “Are you even listening to me?”_

_Pencil scratches across the paper. “Of course I am.”_

“ _Why do I sometimes get the feeling that you don’t really care about me?”_

“ _Because you’re over imaginative,” Javier says calmly and looks at him. “Do you really think I don’t care about you?”_

“ _No,” Alberto whispers, rushing to him immediately, as if afraid Javier will get up and leave. “No, I don’t.”_

 

Jamie walked out of the room and leaned over the wall. Then he noticed Daniel Agger standing by the window. Jamie walked up to him. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Daniel tore his gaze from the scene behind the window and looked at him. “For?”

“You asked me to bring the murderer to justice. I failed you. I know that he did it, but I couldn’t prove it. He is smarter than I thought,” Jamie sighed and then laughed humorlessly. “I made the same mistake Alberto did.”

“What mistake?”

“He thought that Manquillo loved him,” Jamie shrugged. “And I believed in it too. We couldn’t have been more wrong. Manquillo doesn’t love anyone but himself. All the bad blood of that family somehow concentrated in him.”

Daniel nodded slowly, then shook Jamie’s hand. “See you… soon, Inspector,” he said and walked out in the autumn rain.

 

*

 

The air smelled of the decaying leaves and smoke. The Melwood Mansion was still quiet, the pink light pouring in through the gaps in heavy curtains.

Somewhere behind the thick brick walls, Daniel Agger opened a drawer, took out his Browning automatic and walked out of the room.

 


End file.
